(on Being Born On Christmas Day, 1924)

Being Like Everybody Is The Same As Being Nobody.

A Word To The Wise To All The Children Of The Twentieth Century, Whether Their Concern Be Pediatrics Or Geriatrics, Whether They Crawl On Hands And Knees And Wear Diapers Or Walk With A Cane And Comb Their Beards. There's A Wondrous Magic To Christmas, And There's A Special Power Reserved For Little People. In Short, There's Nothing Mightier Than The Meek, And A Merry Christmas To Each And All.

You're Traveling Through Another Dimension, A Dimension Not Only Of Sight And Sound But Of Mind; A Journey Into A Wondrous Land Whose Boundaries Are That Of Imagination. That's The Signpost Up Ahead—your Next Stop, The Twilight Zone.

I Don't Have Any System. I Dictate A Lot, Through A Machine, And I Also Have A Secretary. But I Used To Type Just Like Everybody Else.

Why Do I Write? I Guess That's Been Asked Of Every Writer. I Don't Know. It Isn't Any Massive Compulsion.